


nightfall

by aegious



Category: Ensemble Stars! (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, CW: attempted suicide, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, UNDEAD!Souma AU, War Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-14 10:07:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28918824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aegious/pseuds/aegious
Summary: All alone after Keito banishes him from Akatsuki, Souma finds himself following a new path.
Relationships: Kanzaki Souma & Oogami Kouga, Kanzaki Souma & Otogari Adonis, Kanzaki Souma & Sakuma Rei, Kanzaki Souma & Shinkai Kanata
Comments: 13
Kudos: 38





	nightfall

**Author's Note:**

> > But once, I too was just like you—an inexperienced person who could not break out of my shell alone.
>> 
>> Even now, I am not in a position to speak so assuredly. I am spoiled by my senpai’s kindness; they dress me up in beautiful clothes, and pull my hand as I walk along the big stage.
>> 
>> I am simply overwhelmed with emotion by the feelings and image of my senpai—the light of the sun who allow me to shine as brightly as possible.
>> 
>> But. Sometimes, I wonder, what if... What if I never settled down in “Akatsuki”, never let myself be carried on their backs?
> 
> _— tsukimi live/love and the dawn 2_

The crowd buzzes with energy, pen lights waving in time with the beat of UNDEAD’s song. Hakaze throws out a kiss, arms spread wide; Sakuma shouts curses and rebellion into the microphone, holding the audience captive with harsh, tantalizing words. And behind them, Souma takes in a single breath, gathering courage from their electric bravado.

He squares his shoulders and plants his boots firmly onto the stage below him. “I will no longer be swayed by your pretty words, Hasumi-dono.”

“Very well.” Hasumi pushes up his glasses, rolls up his sleeves, and turns his back on Souma for the second time. “Then fight, Kanzaki. Show me your resolve.”

i.

A chill sweeps through the corridor, dancing around pillars and lifting Souma’s hair into a short waltz that ends as soon as it begins. It’s gentle and reassuring, speaking promises in a breathy giggle that better times are surely coming.

How pleasant that might feel, were it true.

The autumn air is cool now, and even as the breeze wipes the tears from his cheeks it freezes them there, tattooing his shame for all to see. He’s grateful, then, that there’s no one around to witness his shameful state.

Until, of course, there is.

Adonis rounds the corner, track suit clinging to him as he jogs along the path. Souma tries to hide himself behind a column, curling into as small a ball as he can manage, but Adonis is a hunter—he’s not so dull to miss Souma’s careless movements.

“Kanzaki?”

Souma bites his lip, gathering his blazer in his fist. He feels too exposed; how he longs to wear kimono right now, to give him some ground upon which to place his feet. But the world crumbles ever so steadily away from him, and there is nothing he can do about it.

“A–Adonis-dono,” he says through a lump in his throat. He keeps his back to him. “What are you doing here so late?”

Adonis comes to a stop near him, but he shifts from side to side to keep moving. “I’m just finishing up my jog, and I’ll be heading home soon. Are you staying late today?”

“No,” he says too quickly—he’s not lying, not anymore. “No. I am… getting ready to leave myself.”

“Is that so?” Adonis hums, and footsteps creep ever closer. “Would you like to walk home together? At least until we part ways.”

Souma’s heart pricks in his chest. “I do not think that wise, Adonis-dono. I am quite sure you have plans that would not involve me—”

A hand clamps down on Souma’s shoulder. “I don’t have any plans. Perhaps we could get something to eat? It is getting late, after all.”

“Ah…” He’s run out of excuses, and Adonis is too close now. Souma knows all too well that Adonis, of all people, would be able to feel the tremble beneath his calloused fingers, sense his choked breath, see the tearstains clinging to his skin.

And as always, Adonis meets his expectations. “Have you been crying, Kanzaki?”

Souma waves his hand and turns away. “It is no matter. Please pay no mind to it—I beg of you.”

“No, this is something I can’t ignore.” And suddenly Adonis is crouching down in front of him, his thumb wiping away what the breeze could not. “You are my friend, Kanzaki. If I left you here alone when you are in pain, I would not be worthy of such a title.”

Souma’s shoulders relax, if only a little. “Thank you, Adonis-dono. You are truly kind. However, this is something I must deal with. I do not wish to drag you into my personal affairs.”

Adonis shakes his head. “Even if you are a strong person, Kanzaki, everyone has moments of weakness. I want to protect you during those times.”

Souma tries to ignore the way his voice stumbles and breaks with emotion. “Hasumi-dono has discharged me from Akatsuki. I made a grave mistake, and this is the punishment for my sins.”

Adonis’s brow furrows, and when he leans in he grips at Souma’s arms, as if Souma would fall apart if he were not holding on. Truly, it feels like he might. “That can’t be true. When you’ve just found a place to call your own, it’s been ripped out from under you?”

Souma nods, not trusting himself to speak.

Adonis grips harder. “I can’t let this happen. Where is he? Perhaps we can make an appeal—”

“No, Adonis-dono.” Souma finds his voice. “That is not appropriate. This is all my doing. Hasumi-dono’s decision to discard me was correct. I betrayed him for my own selfish reasons, and these are the consequences I must face.”

Adonis stares hard at him, searching for something in Souma’s watery eyes. “Even so. I cannot allow you to be alone. Come with me.”

“What? Where are y—” Souma is pulled up from his spot against the pillar in one strong tug, and without hesitation Adonis whisks him away, back into the school building and up three flights of stairs before he finally slows, giving Souma the time to recollect himself.

“Adonis-dono! Where are you taking me?” he implores, twisting his wrist in Adonis’s grasp.

“Don’t worry,” Adonis says, leading him further down the hall. “I will protect you, Kanzaki.”

They come to a halt in front of the light music clubroom. Gentle melodies flow out from under the door, muffled with distance but still sweet.

Souma turns to Adonis. “Adonis-dono? I still do not understand. Why have you brought me here?”

When three knocks on the door go unanswered, Adonis forces himself into the room anyway, an agonizing whine exploding from the doorframe. “Oogami, are you here?”

Souma turns in on himself as he enters the clubroom, shoulders hunched in an effort to make him smaller. “Pardon me for intruding on your club activities…”

He trails off when he’s met with another first year’s back.

“Sakuma-senpai is out of town currently,” Adonis explains to Souma, his hands waving awkwardly in small, sharp movements in front of him. “He should be returning soon, but this matter is too urgent to wait for him. Therefore, Oogami.”

The song cuts off, and the first year puts his guitar down—gingerly, as if it might break. When he turns to face them, he’s wearing a scowl. “What the hell’s so important you think you can interrupt my practice time, huh?”

“Forgive me.” Adonis speaks smoothly, his expression never once breaking, even under the full force of the student’s glare. Then Adonis gestures to Souma and he feels small. “This is my friend, Kanzaki Souma. Kanzaki, this is Oogami Koga.”

Oogami Koga. A problem child Hasumi is always complaining about. His face is familiar, now that Souma is paying proper attention to it; they’ve seen each other in the student council office often.

“Yeah? And?” Oogami spits. “I know him. What’s he got to do with me?”

“Let him join UNDEAD,” Adonis says. “Please.”

Souma’s world goes still.

“Adonis-dono? I…” What? What is Adonis asking? Souma turns his words over in his mind, analyzing them and breaking them apart until they’re little more than meaningless phonemes. And still he doesn’t see how things have escalated to this.

“He’s been removed from his unit,” Adonis continues. “And he’s my friend.”

“Huh?” Oogami squints, hands on his hips as he scrutinizes them both. “What the fuck’re you talkin’ about, Adonis? This scrawny kid? Joining UNDEAD?”

“With Sakuma-senpai overseas as often as he is, there is very little we can do on our own,” Adonis reasons. “And Kanzaki no longer has a place to belong.”

Oogami picks at his ear. “That ain’t got nothin’ to do with me. Sakuma-senpai’ll come back soon enough and then we can finally bring the house down. We don’t _need_ any more members.”

Adonis seems entirely unfazed. “I invited Kanzaki to apply for UNDEAD at the beginning of the summer, but he turned me down.”

“So?” Oogami raises an eyebrow. “That just means he’s not worth keepin’ around.”

“Adonis-dono,” Souma tries, pleading with his eyes. “Thank you for your kindness, but as I said, this is my matter to deal with. I cannot accept this level of hospitality. I am a traitor, so it is only understandable that Oogami-dono would not want me here.”

“Traitor?” Oogami huffs out a chuckle. “You betrayed that shitty glasses guy? Well well, ain’t karma a bitch.”

Souma cocks his head to the side. “I beg your pardon?”

“Ah, nothin’ important.” Oogami waves the thought away with a hand. “Y’know Adonis, maybe your idea ain’t too bad.”

“Have you had a change of heart?” Adonis asks, face alight with hope. “Will you allow Kanzaki to join UNDEAD?”

“He’s gotta go and apply, first of all,” Oogami says, and Souma’s breath stills. “And in the end, Sakuma-senpai’s still registered as the leader, so I don’t exactly have a say here. But… I dunno, I think I’m warmin’ up to you, Zakki.”

“Za—” Souma breaks off and decides it’s not worth it. “I do not believe I should do something like this, Adonis-dono, Oogami-dono. To apply for a new unit so soon… An application must go through the student council, and it would certainly appear to Hasumi-dono that I have not properly reflected on my actions.”

Oogami barks a sharp, cold laugh. “Who gives a shit what that guy thinks? He’s willing to throw anyone under the bus for his own gain, so why should you treat him any different?”

“But—!”

“At the very least,” Adonis says, squeezing Souma’s hand and filling him with a grounding warmth, “please consider it. I do not wish for you to spend your days at Yumenosaki Academy alone and troubled.”

Souma swallows whatever retort he might have come up with.

ii.

The last remnants of the sun reflect off the katana, and as Souma runs his hand along the blade his skin is enveloped in a deep, red glow.

The world turns to night around him. His knuckles are white around the hilt of the sword. A tear splashes to its polished surface, scattering the beams of the waning sun until they disappear into soft moonlight.

“Thank you, Adonis-dono,” he whispers to the empty benches that surround him on all sides. “But I do not deserve your kindness.” This will be his punishment, he’s decided—a far more fitting one than Hasumi had given him. And yet his resolve is as steady as his trembling hands.

Still, he lifts the blade to his stomach and squeezes his eyes closed. He grits his teeth as the tip of the katana pierces flesh and blooms a crimson camellia on his uniform.

“You trying to summon me?”

Souma jumps, the blade gliding across his skin as it clatters to the ground. He hisses against the explosion of pain and doubles over, hand clamped around his torso as he tries in vain to keep his lifeblood in.

Through his bangs, he sees someone standing over him, a dark silhouette blocking the moon above.

That someone sniffs the air. “Unfortunately for you, I never really liked the taste of blood. I’m sure my little bro would come runnin’ if he got a whiff of this, though.”

“Who…?” Souma forces the word out as he inspects his wound. He lets out a sigh of relief that it’s nonfatal, just a shallow scratch on the surface of his skin, and in the next moment guilt pools in his stomach like the blood dripping into his lap.

“Now wait,” the person says, and he draws a finger across Souma’s leg where the blood has already dyed the fabric red. His touch leaves behind trails of ice; Souma shudders under it. “I thought you were the one calling me. Shouldn’t you at least have the courtesy to know my name?”

Souma looks up and then further still, until he meets the person’s eyes which gleam like rubies in the chilling darkness. “I have not called for anyone. In fact, I would prefer to be alone for this. It is… only fitting.”

The person laughs from the pits of his belly, his fingers dripping red when he pulls away. His entire body cringes when he touches them to his lips. “Mm, yep. Still gross. Well then, Kanzaki Souma-kun. I suppose introductions are in order.”

“How do you know my name?” Souma levels a glare at him, but he can’t imagine it holds much heat while he’s fighting through the pain.

“I know everything about this school, of course.” He waves a hand as if it were a trivial matter. “Sakuma Rei. Charmed, I’m sure.”

Souma’s breath hitches. “You are the leader of the Five Oddballs.”

“That’s what they say,” Sakuma says with a dry chuckle, his glowing eyes unblinking as he stares Souma down. “And you are the traitor of Akatsuki.”

“…That is correct.” A fire burns in Souma’s core, but he can’t tell if it’s his resolve or his pain. “But I, at least, intend to take responsibility for my actions.”

“And what's that gonna do for ya?”

“Excuse me?” Souma stills, frozen in place under Sakuma’s owlish, all-knowing gaze. It presses down on him, and though he fights against the icy fear strangling him it is a futile battle. His life continues to pulse outward, leaving sticky red trails down his shirt.

“What’re you accomplishing with this?” Sakuma asks. He leans down so that they’re face to face; Sakuma’s breath stirs Souma’s bangs, tickles his nose. A chill rolls off of his skin and mingles in the space between them, and from this close Souma can see how pale he is—as if he were a walking corpse. “You’re a lost ronin, wandering aimlessly without a lord to serve. What’s left for you?”

“That is…” Souma finds it hard to take a breath, as if Sakuma were stealing the air from his lungs. “That is precisely why I am doing this, Sakuma-dono. If you understand so well, then I ask you to leave me be.”

Sakuma pulls back so suddenly it has Souma falling forward. But he pays no mind to him and instead stalks across the roof, running his hands along the dying shrubbery. His gaze is fond as he watches the fragile leaves caress his fingers, gently curving up to meet him halfway. “What’s left for you, young ronin?”

Souma’s heart pounds in his chest.

“What’s that sword gonna do for you that that boy hasn’t already done?”

He bites down on the cotton that materializes in his mouth.

“You’re a ghost, ain’tcha?” Sakuma’s lip is quirked upward when he turns back to face Souma. “You’ve been a dead man since he chased ya outta his office. How long’s it been? Can ghosts count the days?”

“Too long,” he answers, skirting around the truth. “I have dishonored Hasumi-dono’s good name with my own actions, and every breath I draw now only sullies him further.”

Sakuma shrugs, plucking a leaf from the bush he’d so fondly handled. “It’s a human’s fate to be caked in mud and filth from the time they’re born. And that boy’s as human as they come.”

A blast of frigid air washes over Souma’s torso when he releases his desperate grip on his wound. His katana, he needs to—but he looks down at his hand, drenched in his own blood. It falls to his side, limp, and he settles for a glower. “I cannot accept such disrespect toward my lord.”

“You still call him lord, ronin?” Sakuma asks, giving pause. “Your devotion is limitless.”

“It is the way of the samurai.” Souma holds his head high. “Perhaps a rogue such as yourself could not understand a code of honor.”

“Rogue, huh…” Sakuma strokes his chin. “I don’t dislike it.”

“It is not a pet name,” Souma clarifies. “You are not meant to like it.”

“A name only carries the value you give it.” Sakuma clenches his fist into the bush, leaves crackling in an agonizing cacophony. “What value do you give yours?”

Souma ponders the question. “We of the Kanzaki clan are descended from a line of noble samurai, entrusted with the sacred duty of shielding our living god, Shinkai-dono.”

“You’re doin’ a real nice job of that right now, aren’t you?” Sakuma smirks, and the temperature around Souma drops.

“That…”

“But then again, that’s what landed you in this mess, isn’t it?” Sakuma asks, but Souma suspects he already knows the full story. “You wanted to protect Kanata, and in doing so, betrayed that boy. Now tell me, ronin: who exactly is your lord?”

Souma stills.

“Choose wisely,” Sakuma cautions, “because living on means betraying one lord, and dying means betraying the other. The world’s not kind enough to let you have both.”

Souma looks down at the blood on his hands— _his_ blood.

“Who do you serve, ronin?”

“I–I…” Even if Souma wanted to give an answer, his words catch in his throat. He gapes helplessly at Sakuma.

“You want me to choose for you?” Sakuma clucks his tongue like a mother would at her child. “There are some things even _I_ can’t do, you know.”

The wound on his stomach burns hot even as the chilly October breeze freezes him to his bones.

“Just so you know, I’m skippin’ town tomorrow afternoon.” Sakuma closes the distance between them in three long strides and produces a sheet of paper, the words blurry through the tears in Souma’s eyes. “After that, it’ll be too late. Make your decision before then.”

He drops the paper into Souma’s lap, wet blood lapping at the corner of the page. Souma blinks down at it as characters start to take legible form.

“The dead can walk again, ronin,” Sakuma says, and his voice seems to surround him, resounding from all sides. “But it all depends on your resolve. So what’ll it be? Will you rise from your grave?”

The unit application bleeds red in Souma’s clenched fist.

iii.

The crinkle of paper grates against Souma’s ear, the creak of the heavy door as it opens moaning in a strange harmony with it. The student council room is quiet, and Souma squeezes his eyes closed as if it might help him disappear from there.

“Kanzaki Souma-kun.”

He does not disappear from there.

Souma’s eyes flutter open in his surprise, and before him is an angel, his golden hair a halo that surrounds his bright, serene face. He sits upon a throne, a dark mahogany chair with a back so high it towers over Souma even when he’s standing, the spindly stiles holding it erect pointed sharp toward the sky as if they are swords poised for battle.

“President-dono,” Souma greets, gaze darting everywhere except for at Tenshouin. The room is empty except for them, the smaller, less ornate chairs tucked neatly under desks buried deep under piles of unattended documents.

“What can I help you with today?” Though the president smiles, his eyes are icy and cold, devoid of the light and heavenly grace that surrounds him.

“I have come to…” He trails off, staring down at the disgusting form in his hands. It’s crusted with blood, characters smudged here and there from teardrops long dried, crinkled and folded a million different ways. “Here.”

He holds the paper out.

“I can’t possibly see what it is if you’re way over there.” Tenshouin beckons him in, and Souma is helpless to resist. He takes one step into the room, then another, past Hasumi’s desk, and still another step further until the toes of his shoes bump against the beveled detailing of the president’s desk.

“Here,” he repeats, all other words miraculously vanished from his mind.

Tenshouin raises an eyebrow and looks at him with a funny little twist of his lips, but he takes the paper anyway, careful to avoid touching the blood and tears from which Souma’s decision was formed.

“A unit application,” he reads. His ocean-blue eyes become wider the longer he stares at the form, and when he finally reaches the seal at the bottom he looks up. “This is surprising. Does Kei—does Hasumi-kun know about this?”

Souma turns away. “I suspect he will soon find out.”

“I see.” Tenshouin looks back down, then up once more. “Do you really know what you’re doing, Kanzaki-kun?”

The air is warm in the student council room—probably regulated to protect Tenshouin’s health. It wraps around him, drawing him in from the cold, harsh night, and calls for him, carrying his name on a whisper that plays with his hair the same way Kiryuu would before a live.

On Hasumi’s desk is a pair of glasses, so strikingly pointed at him, as if watching him, evaluating him, daring him to make another move.

“No,” he answers honestly, his mouth dry and his breath shallow. He turns away from the glasses, tries to ignore its presence on his back. “I might never again know what to do. My path is muddied and unclear, and I cannot tell which decision is the right one.”

Tenshouin hums. “And yet you came here today to join UNDEAD, the unit led by one of the Five Oddballs.”

“I am aware.” The bandage around his waist constricts him, and he feels Sakuma’s icy touch caressing his wound, chasing away the warmth and comfort of the student council.

“If I approve this,” Tenshouin says, and though his face falls into a frown, his voice is a monotone, his half-lidded eyes filled with icebergs that leave only the smallest of wakes as he reads over the application once more, “then you and I will become enemies.”

Souma bites his lip and nods. “It seems this is where our partnership will end, President-dono.”

“Hasumi-kun will miss you.” His words are empty.

“Hasumi-dono cast me away.” Souma rests a hand on his katana. “I cannot imagine he would miss someone who betrayed him so deeply.”

Tenshouin tilts his head, his golden halo shifting with him. “Is that how you feel? How regrettable. Is he right, Hasumi-kun?”

A dozen muffled thuds precedes a flurry of rustling that pounds against Souma’s ears in the sudden silence of the room.

When he spins around, sword clattering against wood and skin and fabric, Hasumi is right there, standing frozen in the doorway. His hand is raised, fingers gingerly holding his glasses on his face. Around him is a sea of white and black, documents scattered across the room and into the hall, file folders open to expose secrets for all to see.

Hasumi steps across the sea, wrinkling and tearing pages as he steps over them. He doesn’t stop until he’s next to Souma, but his unseeing eyes don’t even acknowledge his presence. Instead he rips the paper from Tenshouin’s hands, fingers curling around a bloodstain.

“What is this…?” he mutters, eyes flitting over the words again and again until Souma grows dizzy from watching him. “A unit application? Kanzaki, you—”

Souma takes a step back and then bows deeply. “Forgive me, Hasumi-dono. I have betrayed you yet again. I am not worthy of your presence.”

“Again—?” The paper rustles and crinkles, but Souma does not look up—he can’t, not yet, not when his resolve is so flimsy and his cowardice so strong. Not when he wants to throw himself at Hasumi’s feet and beg him for the second chance he doesn’t deserve.

“I have made my decision. I know not if it is the correct one,” Souma shouts to the floor, eyes squeezed closed, “but it is one I made myself. If I cannot serve two lords, if this life is so cruel as to make me choose between them, then this is my choice.”

A silence sweeps across the room; there is no longer any comfort and warmth within these four beige walls. Souma suppresses the shiver that tries to run down his spine; fingers clench at his pants legs, and his hair tickles his nose as it sways from side to side in the still, stagnant air.

Then Hasumi clears his throat, and there’s a rustle of paper against wood. “I see. So that’s how it is.”

Souma dares to peep open one eye. “Hasumi-dono…?”

Hasumi is stiff. The application is before Tenshouin once more, a seal stamp clenched in his hand.

“It seems I took things too far this time.”

Tenshouin presses the seal onto the paper, black ink branding Souma’s blood in UNDEAD’s colors.

iv.

A flyer falls from the bulletin board and floats on a nonexistent breeze into Souma’s chest. A promotional poster, Souma notes, for an upcoming live.

Battle versus the Sea God.

Dread washes over him, as if the glass fish tanks humming in the marine life clubroom had all shattered and drowned him in their neon blue waters. He can hear Hasumi’s words still, ringing loudly in his ear as if he were there in person. If he squints, he can almost see light glinting off his glasses.

But Hasumi is not here; Souma is alone in this hallway.

If Hasumi saw him now—living, breathing, his wounds scabbed over—what would he think?

He clutches the flyer close to him and floats up the stairs, higher and higher until his feet stop before the door to the light music club, as if he has taken this path countless times before. Yet the doorframe is still unfamiliar, the melodies in the air simple noise to his untrained ear.

Rock and roll, Adonis had described to him what seems so long ago. A modern, loud, passionate genre, something entirely foreign to someone such as himself.

He opens the door.

“You’re late.” Oogami’s hands are wrapped around his guitar, and he barely even glances up when Souma crosses the threshold into the room—his very soul shifting as the weight of night presses down on him, its cold hands beckoning him further away from the realm of the living.

Souma closes his fingers around the hilt of his katana, the ghost of his own blood leaving stains where skin meets sword. “I truly apologize for my tardiness, Oogami-dono! How would you have me repent my inexcusable actions? Shall I commit seppuku? Slice my arteries? Swallow my blade—?”

“Whoa, chill the hell out,” Oogami says, arms going limp and leaving his guitar to dangle from its strap around his neck. “No one said anything about repentance or whatever. I thought you were that womanizing bastard. But it’s just you, Zakki.”

Souma nods once, hand still clenched around his sword.

Oogami’s look is both scrutinous and approving, and hungry eyes trail up and down the length of Souma’s body as he takes him in. “I’ll be honest; I didn’t expect you to go through with this.”

The feeling is mutual, Souma wants to say, but the words catch in his throat. Instead he turns way and half-mutters, “My eyes were opened to reality—I could no longer stay idle inside a pretty dream.”

Oogami grunts. “Yeah, sure. No idea what you’re talking’ about, but it’s not like I care. A newbie’s still better than nothing, right Adonis?”

Adonis stands up from behind the drum set and nods. “Yes. And Kanzaki is highly skilled, as well. We’ve witnessed that firsthand.”

Oogami continues his appraisal. “You play any instruments, Zakki?”

“I do not,” Souma answers. “Must I learn?”

“Nah, it’s not necessary.” Oogami jerks his thumb back at Adonis. “This guy can’t play either, and Hakaze is completely useless.”

“I can play the ocarina,” Adonis objects. “Have you forgotten already, Oogami?”

Oogami rolls his eyes. “I meant like _band_ instruments. But it doesn’t matter anyway. We’re idols, after all. Don’t _need_ to know an instrument in this field.”

Souma hums long and low, ruminating on the name that had pricked at his ears. “Oogami-dono, did you say—?”

“And who’s this pretty lady?”

Souma stiffens at the familiar voice behind him, the flyer falling from his grasp. It dances at his feet as he spins on his heel, drawing his sword in one motion. “I am no lady, you fiend.”

Hakaze Kaoru stumbles back into the doorframe, just narrowly avoiding Souma’s blade. “Huh? Eh? What’re you doing waving that around? Swords are dangerous, you know!”

“So you finally decided to show.” Oogami growls his disapproval. “Took you long enough.”

“Wait, no, before that, who in the world is this?” Hakaze jabs a finger at Souma. “You’re not even a girl.”

“I just told you that,” Souma says, sheathing his sword despite his instincts yelling at him to lash out. “And we have met before, in the underground live house. When you accosted and insulted me.”

Hakaze’s face scrunches up. “Mm, nope, sorry. Doesn’t ring a bell. But I don’t make it a habit to remember guys, anyway.”

“By my power, I will have your—!”

“Kanzaki,” Adonis says, moving across the room in an instant and resting his hand on Souma’s shoulder. Souma deflates under his touch. “This is Hakaze-senpai. He’s a member of UNDEAD, as well.”

“Barely,” Oogami grumbles. “He’s never even shown up for practice.”

Hakaze’s chuckle is light and airy, and he puts his hand to his forehead and looks around as if searching for something. “Oh, that’s funny. I haven’t seen Sakuma-san around lately, either. But I’m sure you have no problem with that, do you, puppy?”

Oogami’s entire stance changes, and now Adonis is holding _him_ back from lunging bodily at Hakaze. “I’m not a puppy! And you know damn well Sakuma-senpai’s overseas! You’re just wasting time, so what’s _your_ excuse?”

“Do I really need one?” Hakaze says. “If I don’t feel like coming, I won’t. Sakuma-san understands the arrangements. Are you perhaps too stupid to get it?”

Oogami howls, lashing out with his fingers poised as claws, but Adonis holds fast to him and keeps his nails just inches from Hakaze’s unflinching face. “Let me go, Adonis! I’m gonna kill him!”

“There, there, Oogami.” Adonis rubs circles into Oogami’s back, and Oogami’s wild movements slow to a more sluggish frenzy. “It’s time for practice to start. There’s no need to fight one another.”

“Well said, Toto-kun!” Hakaze tosses a hand up as he comes further into the room, plopping down atop an amplifier with a self-important grin.

“That is not my name, Hakaze-senpai,” Adonis says. He releases Oogami and Oogami goes falling back against a mic stand, fumbling with it to maintain an upright position.

Hakaze rolls his eyes. “I didn’t say I was interested in learning your names. I’m just here because I owe Sakuma-san a favor.”

“You talked to Sakuma-senpai?” Hope coats Oogami’s words like honey, and even he drops his pretenses as he implores Hakaze for further information. “Is he coming back?”

“Now now, puppy, don’t get your panties in a twist,” Hakaze says. “He said he’ll come back next month. Something about a performance he couldn’t miss.”

Oogami’s shoulders slump over. “That’s so far away… I wanna hurry up and perform, dammit…”

“Hey, what’s this?” Something must have caught Hakaze’s eye, as he suddenly bends down, arm outstretched to grab a sheet of paper from the floor. “A flyer?”

“Ah!” Souma exclaims, rushing forward. “I apologize. I must have dropped it while I was preoccupied. For me to litter—I am ashamed…!”

“You’re pretty energetic, aren’t you?” Hakaze says, looking him over. “I feel like I’ve adopted another puppy.”

Souma grabs at the flyer and shoos Hakaze away. “Do not insult me. However, I should thank you for correcting my oversight. I will make sure not to commit such an act again.”

Hakaze stares hard at him. “Uh, yeah. Whatever. Anyway, what’s this whole thing about? A live performance?”

Souma shakes his head. “Never mind that. It has nothing to do with UNDEAD.”

The flyer is snatched away, and Oogami lifts it to his face to read. “Battle versus the Sea God? Some damn fancy name they got there… ah.”

“Hm? What’d you find, puppy?”

“It’s an Akatsuki live.” Oogami shoves the flyer at Hakaze, pointing at the details on the page. He shoots a pointed look Souma’s way. “What’s your game here, Zakki?”

“My g–game?” Souma swallows. “I swear to you there is none to speak of. I simply found the flyer on the bulletin board and took it without thinking!”

Oogami levels a gaze at him. “Hm. Listen, dude. You’re with us now, right? What good is there in clingin’ to the past like some lovesick idiot?”

Hakaze snorts out a laugh beside them.

“I assure you, I am nothing of the sort.” Souma stands firm, though his breath wavers under Oogami’s sharp gaze. “Sakuma-senpai has accepted me, a traitor, into UNDEAD—it is something I can never hope to repay, even with a thousand years of service. How can I convince you of my loyalty, Oogami-dono?”

Oogami smirks and twirls the mic stand around before shoving it at Souma. “Make some noise.”

v.

Souma’s head pounds as the hum of aquariums shifts into the staggering roar of applause, of adoring screams. Iridescent blues and colorful fish toys morph into a sea of pen lights. They wave in unison with the rising bubbles, popping when they reach the surface to the rhythm of taiko drums.

Battle versus the Sea God… no, it was more a one-sided massacre.

With dead eyes and stiff dances, Akatsuki had ruined Shinkai. The performance plays over and over in his mind, dancing on his lids when he closes his eyes, transforming the world around him into that very stage.

“Souma…?”

Souma jumps up, then cringes backwards and just narrowly avoids knocking into the fish tanks lining the wall. His chair tips over and crashes to the ground—Souma yelps.

“Sh–Shinkai-dono!” he calls out, clamoring to get the chair upright and tripping over it in the process. His face hits the floor. At some point in the struggle, the chair ends up on top of him.

Shinkai smiles down at him, completely unfazed. “What are you doing here, Souma?”

Souma pushes the chair off of him and touches his forehead to the floor. “I believe that question should be directed at you, Shinkai-dono. I have dutifully come here every day that you have said we are to meet. But I have not seen you since your live against Akatsuki.”

“Meet…?” Shinkai considers the word for a moment. “I just wanted to see the fishies.”

“I have been feeding them according to the manuals left in the room!” Souma promises to the floor. “I would not let harm come to your beloved fish.”

“Souma, you do not need to bow to me,” Shinkai says, and Souma tentatively lifts his head, prepared to jam it back down in an instant should Shinkai change his mind. “You should stand up.”

Souma scrambles to stand. “As you wish, my god! I deeply apologize for my humiliating display. To show you something so vulgar, I can never forgive myself.”

“Ah…” Shinkai looks away, eyes sweeping across the fish tanks behind Souma. “Do not call me god. I am a human now.”

Souma jerks forward. “That cannot be! Shinkai-dono, you are are the living god of this region and the protector of this land. So why…?”

“Chiaki said I have to be human to be friends with him,” Shinkai says, tilting his head and staring through Souma as he thinks. “So now I am learning how to do that, with Chiaki’s help.”

“Chiaki… Morisawa-dono? The man who aided you during the Battle versus the Sea God?”

When Shinkai smiles, it’s warm and inviting and something Souma has never before seen on his god’s face. “Yes. But I am still inexperienced. Souma, will you teach me things about being human, as well?”

Souma’s heart leaps in his chest. “Yes! Of course! I am humbled to be of use to you, Shinkai-dono.”

“I am glad.” Shinkai directs his smile at Souma, and for the first time he feels without doubt that he’s chosen the correct path. “I was worried.”

Souma’s brows pinch together. “Worried? Whyever so?”

Shinkai’s smile falters and then crumbles altogether. “I thought that you would leave, too. Since I can no longer grant any wishes.”

Hasumi’s voice echoes around them—harsh, grating, uncomfortable truths in a gentle baritone. Truths Souma wants to shut himself off to, ignore fervently, but which circle around him like a whirlpool that sucks him out of his dreamlike state and deposits him into the cold reality, dripping wet and lost in a world that does not know him and that he does not know.

That whirlpool takes the form of Hasumi, of Akatsuki, of the student council—Souma sees this now, reflected back to him on Shinkai’s fallen face, the slump of his shoulders, the godhood he can no longer reclaim. This was his—Hasumi’s—intention, to drag them all down and rip the solid ground out from under them only to leave them scrambling for purchase in a deep, murky sea without a lifevest.

Hasumi subjugated Shinkai Kanata of the Five Oddballs, and with it stripped god of his divinity, stripped Souma of his past and present, leaving only an unclear future for which he has no foundation.

And before him now is his beloved god, fallen from grace by the hands of a mere mortal. They stand equal to each other now, human. If he reaches out, he could touch Shinkai’s face—has he ever been so close to another?

“Souma?” Shinkai says, leaning in.

“Sh–Shinkai-dono!” He scuttles backward, just narrowly avoiding crashing into the fish tanks. “Forgive me for neglecting to answer!”

Kanata giggles. “It is all right. You should not worry so much.”

“I will try my utmost to live up to your expectations.” Souma bows deeply, putting himself below Shinkai once more because he is not yet strong enough to exist in this reality into which Hasumi thrust him headlong. “I will not abandon you so shallowly.”

“That makes me happy,” Shinkai says. “Maybe even we can become friends, like Chiaki said.”

Souma’s heart stops for but a moment. “Huh? I… I could never, Shinkai-dono. To do so would be a breech of etiquette—no, utter arrogance on my part!”

“Really…” Shinkai breathes out disappointment, and Souma’s heart twinges with regret. He straightens himself—tentatively, with clenched fists and a pounding heart, and tries to look Shinkai in the eye.

Shinkai looks like he wants to say more, but suddenly the light from the doorway is covered in shadow, and Souma turns his attention to the threshold to see a figure standing in it.

And Hakaze waltzes in without a care in the world, plopping down in a chair and burying his nose in his phone.

The light from the screen bathes him in an eerie glow, as if he, too, were swimming within one of the fish tanks.

“Kaoru, you came,” Kanata says. “You have not come here in a while.”

Hakaze shrugs, never once looking up from his phone. “I came today, right? That’s gotta count for something.”

Souma levels a glare at the man. “You.”

“Me,” Hakaze sings playfully, and he finally deigns to look up, his thumbs still gliding across the screen without even slowing. His careless smile drops when he sees Souma. “Oh, it’s you. I thought that voice was familiar.”

“Are you so dedicated to disrespect that you would show it even to Shinkai-dono?” Souma demands, deciding that his treatment toward Shinkai is far more pressing a matter than that toward himself.

Hakaze feigns offense. “What? Kanata-kun knows I’m just messing around. We’re buds, right?”

Shinkai smiles in spite of the unsavory situation before them. “Yes, Kaoru taught me that word. It means we are friends.”

“Friends?” Souma repeats incredulously. “You, with him?”

“You say that like I’m some kinda disease,” Hakaze says, returning to his phone.

“Perhaps that conclusion comes from what little remains of your conscience.”

“Ouch, haha.”

“Now, now,” Shinkai says. “Let us get along. We are all members of the same club, so we should be friends. Shall I pat your heads and say ‘good boy, good boy?’”

Hakaze pushes back the arm Shinkai extends, ducking out of the way. “Getting my head pat doesn’t exactly me happy. Of course, if you were a girl, Kanata-kun…”

Souma grimaces. “Shameless. Forgive my assumption that you had even the smallest traces of a conscience.”

Hakaze glances up at him, once, then back down. “You know, if you hate me that much, why’d you even join UNDEAD? It wasn’t too much longer, but I did join before you, and it wasn’t exactly a secret.”

Souma opens his mouth to rebut, but stops short. Perhaps he had known this distantly—that Hakaze was part of UNDEAD. And so perhaps it is he who is at fault, for overlooking such a glaring truth in his naivete, in Hakaze’s negligent absence.

But there’s nothing to be done now. He’s severed his ties with Akatsuki, dyed himself in black and moonlight, sung the first notes of his own funeral hymn. It is he alone who must bear the consequences of his oversight.

His heart sinks, and he hears in his mind the wild cheers of Akatsuki’s fans as he dances upon a grand stage in an elegant, well-tailored kimono, the glint of a red moon shining on his katana—Kiryuu holding out his hand for him, putting him on display like a pretty doll, a priceless amethyst polished tirelessly by Hasumi’s hand.

Souma sinks lower before falling entirely into a nearby chair, all fight drained from him as he clings to and releases and clings to again the distant memories he can no longer grasp.

vi.

He’s not sure he’ll get used to this.

The leather jacket hangs awkwardly on his body as he adjusts the hat for the third time. No matter what he does, he looks out of place, especially among the other members of UNDEAD.

“What’re you still fiddlin’ around for?” Oogami asks, strumming a few notes on his guitar. “The live’s starting soon. There’s no time to be making complaints about the outfit, got that?”

Adonis plucks the hat out of Souma’s hands and lays it gently down atop his head. “Are you nervous?”

Souma nods. “I do not know if I am yet ready to perform in a live with you all.”

“There is nothing to fear,” Adonis reassures, and Souma tries his hardest to believe him. “You are diligent at practice, and you’ve learned our songs well.”

“This costume does not suit me,” Souma admits with a sigh. “I am not fit for the rock and roll lifestyle.”

“What’re you sayin’?” Oogami says over another chord. “‘Course you are, Zakki. How d’you think you got here? Did you forget what rock _is?”_

“Adonis-dono has explained it before. It is an aggressive style of music that encourages expression and breaking down boundaries.”

“It seems even I was able to teach you something,” Adonis says, the barest hint of a smile on his face.

“I have learned much from Adonis-dono!” Souma agrees. “This style of music is something I have never had much contact with. I would truly be lost without your guidance.”

“Quit flirtin’ for a sec, I didn’t even get to explain myself here,” Oogami grumbles, and Souma looks down sheepishly. “Rock is all about lawlessness and giving the finger to the man. That’s exactly what you did to that shitty four-eyes, ain’t it? You’re plenty rock.”

“I–I know not whether I could in good conscience give ‘the finger’ to Hasumi-dono, but…” He takes a breath. “I understand what you mean. I am rock.”

“That’s the spirit.” Oogami reaches over and slaps a hand across Souma’s back. “Now quit your whinin’ and suit up. You wasted enough time cryin’ about your outfit.”

Souma hastens to fix his jacket and lace up his boots, and though he still doesn’t feel quite comfortable in something so modern and western, he forces a smile to the him reflected in the mirror. “Will Sakuma-dono truly not be present for this live?”

Oogami strums hard on his guitar, an angry sound blasting forth from the instrument.

Adonis adjusts Souma’s hat once more. “Hakaze said he’s still in England for the time being, and that he’s not coming back for a few weeks.”

“He didn’t say shit about where _he_ was, though.” Oogami slams his fist onto the table next to him, the water inside the cooler sloshing about from the vibration. “Why did Sakuma-senpai let that guy into the unit, anyway? It’s not like he actually does anything.”

“I cannot pretend to know Sakuma-senpai’s logic,” Adonis says. “However, I believe he wanted an upperclassman to guide us while he was absent.”

Oogami growls. “Dammit, then he should just come back already…”

Adonis kneels down to help Souma lace up his boots, brushing away Souma’s hands so he can work out the knots. “This live is about him, after all. I also found it strange that he won’t make an appearance.”

Souma’s heart flutters with anxiety. “I wonder if this is…”

“Hm?”

Souma shakes his head, trying to clear cold, sea-ice eyes from his mind. “Forgive me, but I cannot help but see similarities between this live and the battles against the others of the Five Oddballs.”

“Huh.” The guitar cuts off suddenly, and Oogami leans forward into Souma’s personal space. “You’d know a thing or two about that, wouldn’t you?”

“Y–yes,” Souma answers. “Though I am not familiar with the details, I was to participate in at least the Battle versus the Sea God with Akatsuki until…”

“And you think this bears resemblance to that live?” Adonis asks, brushing himself off as he stands. Souma’s boots are perfectly laced, the shaft on one folded down to create an asymmetrical, disheveled look. Souma shifts from side to side, trying to acclimate to something so foreign to him.

“It is not dissimilar,” he admits. “fine challenged UNDEAD, did they not? However, Sakuma-dono accepted the proposal without hesitation, so it is possible that I am worried over nothing.”

“Or maybe he knows something we shouldn’t,” Oogami says. “And he just wants to rip the band-aid off.”

“There is that, as well.”

“Then we should be cautious,” Adonis says. “He who strikes first will naturally have the advantage in a hunt.”

Adonis falls quiet and looks toward the stage.

Souma reaches out and puts a tentative hand on Adonis’s arm. “Adonis-dono? Is something wrong?”

Adonis doesn’t speak for a moment, and when he finally opens his mouth, he seems distant, faraway. “I wanted to become an idol to help those who are weak, but I couldn’t even see the malicious intent behind this attack… It seems I am not yet strong enough to realize my goals.”

“We… don’t know for certain this is an attack,” Souma says, but even he can hear how hollow his words are. There’s nothing else it can possibly be, not with the current atmosphere suffocating Yumenosaki Academy.

Oogami lets a feral roar rip from deep within his gut and stomps ahead toward the stage. “Who gives a shit what it is? We’re here to win, no matter what dirty tricks those bastards have up their sleeves. Let’s give ‘em hell!”

Souma steels his nerves and puts Tenshouin’s ominous prophecy behind him. “Yes, I agree with Oogami-dono. Regardless of the intent behind this live battle, our strategy and performance will not change.”

Adonis hesitates, shifting his gaze between the stage where fine is performing and Souma. “You’re right. I apologize for my cowardice. I’ve found my resolve now, so I am prepared to perform.”

“Attaboy!” Oogami slaps him on the back, a wide grin on his face. “All right, let’s show those fine pricks what we’re made of!”

Trepidation and exhilaration course like fire through Souma’s veins as the music ends and the members of fine take their bows. As they shuffle off the stage, Souma’s eye catches that of Tenshouin’s, and the world seems to freeze around them as he approaches, his angelic smile an omen for whatever awaits.

“Kanzaki-kun,” he says, chest heaving as he speaks. “It’s been a while. I see that your new leader is nowhere to be found.”

Souma straightens his back and levels a gaze at him. He clasps his hands behind his back to quell the trembling in his fingers.

In Tenshouin’s clear eyes Souma sees the reflection of his sins: all of his betrayals, all of his lies. These are knowing eyes, watchful eyes, which have pierced through to Souma’s soul and cast judgment over his crimes. It is almost as if he has become a king, an emperor, his pure white wings stretched out over Yumenosaki Academy, none able to escape his reach.

The leather binding him to UNDEAD feels heavy and hot around his shoulders, around his ankles, as if the flames of hell are scorching his flesh. They rip open the scar across his stomach and tear out his soul, vulnerable and weak in Tenshouin’s all-encompassing shadow.

“I pray,” and perhaps it is the angels who pray hardest, for the stone beneath Tenshouin’s smile hardens and strains with the effort it takes to stay standing, to keep them locked within this small eternity, “that you are not making another mistake.”

With a single exhale, reality returns to them and the hostile crowd beckons Souma forward.

Tenshouin does not look at him again.

Souma steps onto the stage.

vii.

Oogami growls for the umpteenth time, stomping circles around the small pathway between seats in the auditorium. “Ngh, what’s with him?!”

“Oogami,” Adonis tries again. “Guests are arriving, and you are blocking their way.”

“So what?” Oogami shoots back. “Like I give a shit about these traitors. If they want in so bad, they’ll have to run me down first.”

Souma surges forward and places his hands on Oogami’s shoulders, effectively stopping him in his ceaseless tracks. “Oogami-dono, please calm yourself. Your life is valuable, after all.”

Oogami scoffs, but he doesn’t try to shake Souma off. “Yeah, whatever. We’re already dead, anyway. You, me, Adonis, even Sakuma-senpai.”

“Oogami-dono…”

“It’s true, ain’t it?” Oogami gestures forcefully between them, then to the front of the auditorium where Sakuma’s silhouette seems to shrink back against what little light filters in through the windows. “Those fine bastards offered us up as sacrificial lambs. Even though I’m a wolf, dammit…!”

He grits his teeth and glares at a spot far beyond their little group, and Souma finds he can feel Oogami’s frustration welling up even within his own soul.

“And why the hell is Sakuma-senpai all the way over there and we’re all the way over here, huh?” Even Sakuma can’t escape Oogami’s scathing criticism tonight, it seems. “We haven’t seen him in _weeks,_ he missed his own damn funeral, and now he barely talks to us? What’s he playin’ at?”

“I am sure there is a good reason,” Souma says, racking his brain for said reason. “Sakuma-dono is one of the Five Oddballs, and after all, tonight is the final battle between them and fine. I am sure he has much on his plate.”

“You can never have too much to eat,” Adonis says, staring at something only he can see, lips tilted down in thought. “Just keep the leftovers for later.”

“That is not what I mean.”

Oogami turns his gaze back to Sakuma, and Souma follows. Sakuma’s hunched form, leaning on the Oddballs’ youngest in a way that’s too obvious to be casual, is a far cry from the Sakuma that Souma had met atop the roof that night. His hair is longer, a little unkempt, and what words carry through the air are drawn out with a mournful yawn.

Though Souma cannot see his face right now, the image of it remains burned into his mind even an hour after they’d met up: pale, gaunt, haunted, with dull red eyes that no longer shine with otherworldly power and a grin that can no longer set an audience alight in a roaring, unruly blaze. Souma can’t decide if Sakuma looks as if he had seen a ghost, or if he had become the ghost himself.

It is now, as he watches the young Sakasaki stomp his foot and push an envelope at Hibiki only to be held back, coddled in Sakuma’s arms, that Souma realizes just how much this war has cost them.

Souma spares a glance toward Oogami and Adonis, and it is through this new lens that he can truly see them. Frustrated, anxious, worried, scared. It’s in the way Adonis pulls his lips taut, the way Oogami digs his nails into his blazer. It’s the gentle sway of exhaustion that pulls Adonis ever closer to their seats; it’s the desperation that has Oogami both reaching out for Sakuma and standing frozen to this small island far away from him.

They are all ghosts, all ronin like him. Everything has been stolen from them: their fans, their music, their leader, their very lives.

And before their eyes the student council flaunts their spoils of war, from the golden throne upon which the emperor sits to the gentle smiles shared between them and their audience.

“I apologize,” Souma says, the words coming out before he realizes he’s speaking.

This shakes Oogami out of his reverie, and he acknowledges Souma with a deep, wordless grunt that makes as much sense to Souma as Souma’s apology probably does to him.

“Have you done something to apologize for?” Adonis asks, searching Souma’s face as if it contains secrets untold.

Souma nods firmly. “I have made light of you both—of UNDEAD—for too long. I have kept my eyes closed and played too passive a role when we were in need. I thought it enough to simply sit idly while our worlds were destroyed by those who were meant to be comrades. In that way, I have failed you and our unit.”

“Whoa now,” Oogami says, clutching a hand to his head.

“I am sorry,” Souma repeats. “Have I said something wrong?”

“Nah, I’m just…” Oogami shakes his head. “What the fuck, dude. Why’re you trippin’ over yourself apologizin’ like that? You got some bone to pick with me? Huh?”

“I—I beg your pardon?” Souma looks between Oogami and Adonis. “It seems I have misspoken at some point. Allow me to take responsibility by—”

Adonis grabs Souma’s wrists before they’ve even started moving, but Oogami speaks for him. “You even got any brains in there? What the hell’re you tryin’ to do?”

Souma’s arms fall slack in Adonis’s grasp. “I wish to atone for my transgressions.”

Oogami putters out a breath and shares an incomprehensible look with Adonis before plowing ahead. “Who the hell ever said you gotta do that? Do you know who we—who _you_ —are?”

Souma stays quiet for lack of an answer.

“We’re UNDEAD.” Oogami speaks slowly, as if Souma were a child. Perhaps he still is, in many ways. “We’re wild and free and completely unhinged. We don’t play by the rules ‘cause there ain’t no rules, far as we’re concerned. Y’got that?!”

Souma squeaks. “Y–yes, but—”

“There ain’t no buts!” Oogami huffs and looks at Adonis again. “Get it through your thick head, Zakki, ‘cause you’re one of us now.”

“It’s as Oogami says,” Adonis says, sending Souma encouragement with a quick squeeze around his wrists. “It doesn’t matter if you hold us back or have moments of weakness. We will become strong enough to carry you on our backs.”

“Uh, speak for yourself,” Oogami says. “I’ll leave this guy in the dust if he can’t keep up.”

“Oogami.”

Oogami throws his head back and sighs at the ceiling. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. I’m plenty strong already, no matter what that rigged-ass live said.”

Souma’s heart stutters in his chest. “I do not wish to be a burden on you or this unit.”

“Then get strong, Zakki.”

Adonis releases him and Souma nearly folds in on himself, only finding his footing as he feels the floor begin to crumble underneath him. He takes a breath, then another, and when he looks at Adonis, at Oogami, at Sakuma, he can see a fight looming on their horizon.

Oogami kicks at the ground. “Just you wait, you student council bastards. We’ll have our revenge.”

As the lights dim around them and the audience shuffles to their seats, Souma hears a whisper in his ear—

_“The dead can walk again.”_

Then a spotlight snaps on, bathing the stage and the Oddball Hibiki in gold. He stands in the center, alone, a mask hiding his face and a curious smile twisting at his lips.

The audience erupts in rage, but Hibiki stands there, grin widening until it splits his face and he responds to their curses with arms spread like a hug, head thrown back, thick ponytail cascading down his back—back straight, tall, and he towers over the audience with dangerous poise and startling charisma.

When he speaks, it booms through the auditorium, loud and unabashed, and the audience falls silent. Souma sees in his mind’s eye Shinkai atop the same stage, hair tousled as he sings, the world suspended in that moment.

A shrill chortle rings out; the music begins. Hibiki bows and steps out of the spotlight, darkness overtaking him as the black material of his costume bleeds onto his skin and hair until he vanishes entirely from the stage.

And the audience is still quiet when fine appears, Hibiki’s presence an oppressive veil cast over them. Even when Tenshouin sings his first note and releases the audience from their trance, Souma’s gaze remains on the darkness on the edges of the stage, the minute space where Tenshouin’s light can’t touch.

Hibiki will die tonight. Beside him, Adonis is tense, Oogami is buzzing with the last fumes of his energy.

No, Souma thinks solemnly. Tonight, they all die. And from their ashes Tenshouin will build Yumenosaki Academy anew, their bones fashioned into the bricks of the new era.

And yet, with a persistent flame sparking to life within his heart, with the shadows creeping across his body and staining him in the night, Souma does not mourn.

viii.

He’s gotten used to it, now.

The weight of the leather jacket rests comfortably around his shoulders; his hat is tilted at an angle that casts a shadow over his face and draws the eye to him. His heavy boots are properly laced, tight pants clinging to his thighs. It’s a new costume, a new year, but it’s familiar all the same.

Souma tugs on the jacket once, ponytail bouncing then falling over his shoulder. The face in the mirror is stern, a small frown pulling his features downward as he examines himself and fine-tunes the costume.

Behind him, Souma can only see the reflection of Hakaze’s legs as he bends over, digging through a tub of props and tiny machinery for something. Adonis mills around in the background, hand clenched around a microphone as he paces back and forth. Oogami tunes his guitar, glares at Sakuma when he offers to help.

“I can do it myself,” he growls.

“Oh puppy, don’t be that way,” Sakuma says, biting down on his smile. “We’re about to go on.”

Oogami turns away, forcing Sakuma to take a step back. “Yeah, and I can do it myself.”

Sakuma’s chuckle is light and knowing, and he gives up in favor of making his way toward Souma. He leans over onto his shoulder, and Souma grimaces when it messes up the way his jacket lays upon him—but when he looks at the mirror again, he thinks it adds to the disheveledness he’s bathed himself in, adds to the spirit of rock and roll that he’s come to know so intimately. He hums in approval.

“I never thought I would see this day,” Sakuma says, playing with Souma’s hat and teasing his fingers along the collar of Souma’s V-neck. “To think that you would become one with the night.”

Souma straightens. “I am honored to be UNDEAD.”

“Do you miss them?”

It’s a question Souma had been expecting, yet still he cannot find the words to answer. After a moment of careful thought, he nods once, a barely-there gesture that he’s sure most wouldn’t even catch—but not Sakuma, his omnipresent gaze seeing all there is.

Perhaps in another timeline, in a different reality, Sakuma would be known as the emperor, his reach wide and cold, holding everything inside Yumenosaki within his icy, corpselike hands. Perhaps in another timeline, he and Sakuma would still be enemies, as they had been not even half a year ago.

“I cannot help but think what might be different,” he admits, a shallow sigh on his lips. “What might be, had I chosen a different path, a different lord.”

“Do you want to run back to him?” Sakuma already knows, his red eyes gazing through the leather and makeup to peer into Souma’s soul.

“No,” he says—the truth. “I am UNDEAD. You all have helped me to see that.”

Sakuma’s eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles. “Very well. I am glad you have found your answer, ronin.”

The name is a badge of honor now, and when it falls off Sakuma’s lips in honey-sweet tones it seems to wrap Souma in affection, in care. He holds his head high even when Sakuma pulls away and they gather in the wing, the stage looming before them.

Their first live all together, an S1. A face-off against Akatsuki. Souma’s heart flutters, but he stamps down on his nerves and steels his heart.

He _is_ UNDEAD. And he is stronger now—he can stand on his own two legs, support Sakuma when he’s near collapse. He is no longer the weak-willed boy from last year.

“Remember what we’re here to do,” Sakuma starts, staring at each of them in turn with his sweeping gaze.

“Whatever, let’s just get on with it,” Hakaze says with a flick of his wrist. “The longer you stand here, the less time I get to spend with all the cute girls in our audience.”

Hakaze expertly ignores both Souma’s and Oogami’s glares.

Sakuma merely chuckles, slow and soft and completely different from the boisterous laughter of last year. “Then there’s no need to keep dilly-dallying. Come, let us go crash this party.”

A fire burns in Souma’s core, and when he steps forward, there is no hesitation, no second thoughts, no backwards glances.

He is the dead that roams aimlessly beneath the moon, the raging bonfire scattering embers across the darkness, no longer in need of someone else’s warmth to keep him burning. He abandons all lords and succumbs to himself and the cold, inviting night—and he smiles, eager to bare himself for Hasumi, for Kiryuu, for all the student council to see.

This is the beginning of his resurrection.

**Author's Note:**

> aha thank you for reading!! i've been obsessing over this fic for 2 weeks and im so so excited to have finally posted it ^^
> 
> you can find me on [twitter!!](https://twitter.com/aegious)


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